Sunday, June 15, 2014


By Pavel Chichikov

The dragon crawls from the cave for a smoke,
The air inside is stagnant, dense,
He needs to clear his head from sleep
And a dream he had that made no sense

He dreamed the gold of his golden pile
Had turned to straw and then to powder,
Had left him writhing on the floor
With a need for something to devour

The dragon shook his scaly fringe
And came to see a real nightmare,
Suppose the price of gold had failed?
It gave the worried worm a scare

Who would want to find his cave
To steal his horde and battle him?
There’d be no princes he could eat,
A dragon could grow cold and thin

I need a crisis, said the beast
To send the price of gold aloft,
Then from each nostril grew a flame
Because the dragon swelled and coughed 

The Poetry of Pavel Chichikov


Enbrethiliel said...


WOW. Just W-O-W.

The dragon isn't in it for the gold, but for the others who might want the gold. Why does it sound so familiar? ;-P

Paul Stilwell said...

It's almost just can't put my finger on it!

Yeah, when I read the poem I was all, "Holy s#@*! He knows! Chichikov knows!"

Belfry Bat said...

If you ever asked him before for permission to use a poem (he does ask that you ask, and I shan't presume ill-dealing on anyone's part here) he may well have read through some of your blog and been impressed by things.

Poets can be strange creatures.

Belfry Bat said...

(PS, don't tell that I was here. I'm not supposed to be here outside of Sunday)

Paul Stilwell said...

I've corresponded with him before, though before I started this blog, way back when. At the time I asked him if I could use one of his poems in a pro-life newsletter that I was editing at the time, to which he gave permission.

But I haven't asked permission for this blog. Nor did I see that one must ask permission on his site before, until now.

I wouldn't assume for the life of me that he would be impressed by anything on this blog.

And yes, I'm well aware that poets can be strange creatures.

My lips are sealed!